Lovestruck
by timbitsmama
Summary: In Owensboro, Kentucky, a string of brutal murders have Sam and Dean stumped. Victims being killed by 'strangers' make a quiet town into a scared one-fast. While the boys look for the cause, they discover an ancient family history that proves to be quite dangerous, and it has to be stopped, before even more murders turn the town upside down.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

_Owensboro, Kentucky_

"Man, this thing is amazing!"

Dean Winchester shoveled the remaining amount of his pulled pork sandwich into his mouth as his brother Sam watched him.

"Yeah, you know, I really couldn't tell that by the grease running down your face and your failure to breathe since you picked it up. This diner is seriously the greasiest one we've been to."

"Hey!" Dean exclaimed. "Quit your whining. Maybe you should start eating like a man, too. All you ever do is order a cup of coffee and read your newspaper. Be a little less predictable, huh? By the way, anything good in there?"

Sam stared intensely into the paper and nodded in response. "Actually, there is."

"Let's hear it."

"'Local man brutally murdered in own home. Officials are baffled.'"

"What's so baffling about that?" Dean asked.

"Well, it says here that his partner found him face down with no trace of injury. That is, until he realized his face was purple. Strangulation, I guess. His name was Mark Poland. I dunno..." He took a minute to scan the remainder of the article. "It doesn't seem so special. Just your cut-and-dry homicide."

Dean could tell from the look in his brother's eyes that he didn't believe the words that he had just said. "You don't think so, do you?"

Sam knitted his brow in thought. "I'm not sure what I think. I'm still wiped from driving 17 hours after our latest case."

"Yeah, me too."

Thinking wistfully about the typical haunted house ordeal they had just solved in Washington, Dean smiled inside. Their lives had definitely not been that easy in a long time. And, they hadn't fought like the good-old days for a while, either.

He guessed things change when both you and your brother go through hell (literally), and lose everyone you ever cared about. You can never be as hopeful as you were when you were a kid.

Dean got up from their table and slammed a 10 dollar bill onto it, shaking himself out of thought. "Where are you going?" Sam asked.

"To question this guy's girlfriend."

Sam paused, unsure of his readiness. "How do you even know that it's a case for us? Shouldn't we just relax for a day and see what we've got tomorrow?"

"No time like the present. Besides, murders like this almost always turn out to be for us. If it isn't, we've wasted about 35 minutes questioning a babe who is single. And, hopefully, looking to mingle. Let's go."

Shortly after, the boys pulled into the driveway of a grand farmhouse, and a heartbroken looking young man answered the door. "Oh." He said, looking at the suits they were wearing. "I suppose you guys are cops."

"Yeah," Dean replied, flashing a fake badge. "We are. I'm Inspector Yelsew and this is my partner, Detective Wilson. Mind if we come in and ask you a few questions?"

The man, who was a bit shorter than Dean with carrot red hair, shook his head. "Sorry, I just finished talking to some others yesterday. Can't you get the notes from them? We're hosting a grief party for Mark. Now is kind of a bad time."

"This won't take long, we promise." Sam assured him. After a bit of thinking, he agreed.  
"Okay. But I'd rather if we stayed outside. You know, more privacy for everyone. And, to be honest, cops aren't always our friends around here. It makes for less fuss."

"Sure, whatever is best."

"So," Dean began. "You and Mark had known each other for how long?"

"About 6 years."

"And you found him?"

"Just like the paper had said," The man answered. "His body facing the floor and his face purple. The window was broken into, the table was smashed. Someone didn't like him."

"Do you have anyone in mind?"

"No."

"Nobody at all?" Sam echoed.

Carrot Top was ready to go back inside; he was getting fidgety. "Is there anything else, gentlemen?"

"Yes, there is." Dean answered.

"Did Mark have any hobbies?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Just touching some bases. Y'know, model building, cooking, book club, the occult, knitting...?"

"No," The man replied. "Nothing besides painting lawn gnomes."

Dean smiled to himself.

"And now," He continued. "Since I've had a few days to think about this awful situation, I think it was a hate crime."

"Hate crime?" Dean and Sam said in unison.

"Well..." The man tilted his head toward the porch of the house, where an unmistakable rainbow flag was hanging.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Oh. So Mark was your boyfriend?"

"Yes."

"And cops don't like you because you're..."

"Yes." He seemed to become a bit impatient. "A lot of law enforcement seem to be old fashioned thinkers around this area. But, you know, if you ever need to talk more privately, I can get us in at this really nice Chinese place..."

He then placed his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Um, not to disrespect you LMNOP folks, but...Me and my partner don't exactly swing that way."

"Dean," Sam whispered. "It's LGBTQ."

"Well, I can assure you gentlemen that anything else you need to know will be fresh in other policemen's minds or databases or whatever else you use to pry into people's lives. If you need anything, please, don't come back."

"One last thing," Sam said. He thought that the redhead might have slammed the door in his face if it weren't for his foot blocking the doorway. "I didn't get your name."

"It's Harold. Harold Nimworth."

"Thanks for your time, dude." Dean said, returning the hand-on-shoulder gesture. "Live long and prosper. Stick it to the man!"

Harold rolled his eyes. "Good day to you, boys." The door was then swiftly shut.

"Stick it to the man?" Sam asked with raised eyebrows as they headed back towards the Impala.

"Words of encouragement for the bereaved soul."

"Just drive the damn car."


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

The boys stopped at another dim, out-of-date motel. Dean sighed with exhaustion, kicking off his shoes and sitting on the bed. "Man, even though that guy was snippy, it must really suck for him."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Being treated unfairly just because you're different is always tough." Images of him being locked in Bobby Singer's panic room flashed through his mind.

Even though Dean and Bobby had put Sam in there to keep him safe, the whole event was nasty. It felt like eons ago that he had let Ruby talk him into drinking demon blood to become more powerful. The truth was, demon blood is the exact thing that made him end up in the panic room, hallucinating and alone. And, it was also the thing that changed his and Dean's relationship. It was never the same.

"Well," Dean said, interrupting Sam's thoughts. "I was thinking about losing someone, but you've got a point. Do me a favor, okay?"

"What's that?"

"When I finally bite it, send me out with a party, too."

Sam couldn't help but smile. It was just like his brother to say something like that. "Okay, Dean." He peeked at his watch-almost 2am.

"I'm gonna hit the hay."

"You know," Dean replied. "I don't think that's a bad idea." It wasn't even 10 minutes after that and Sam heard light snoring. Dean always fell asleep first.

_I guess, _Sam thought, _some things never change._


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

The morning was filled with research-from both Sam and Dean. Dean went to check out the newspaper archives at the library while Sam stayed at the motel with his laptop. So far, it was proving useless. Squinting through sleep-hazed eyes, Sam shook his head. Nothing about this town was out of the ordinary: not even any made up ghost stories or unsolved murders. In fact, the murder of Mark Poland was the first unnatural death the town had seen in almost 80 years. And Owensboro had only existed for about 200.

Dean opened the door "Hey, Sammy. Find anything interesting?"

"Nope. The entire town is ordinary. You?"

"In fact," Dean said excitedly. "I have." He slid a purple velvet pouch onto the table. "What's this?" Sam asked.

"Dunno."

Opening the bag, Sam winced. The smell was disgusting. A mix of mold and paprika filled his nose. Inside the pouch was an odd looking yellow stone, a pebble, and spice. "Is this a hex bag?"

"I don't think so," Dean replied. "It's missing a bone and some other things. Looks like it belonged to a kid or something. You know, a hiding place for his useless crap."

"Where did you find this?"

"At the guy's house." Dean answered like he hadn't just committed a break and enter.

"You went back into the house? Was anyone home?"

"Of course not, dumbass. I just checked around. Harold was gone, the window was open...I just took a peek where the crime happened. Honestly, there didn't even seem like there was a hair out of place. Mr. Redhead likes to share his home with Mr. Clean."

"Uh-huh," Sam said, staring into the stone. "I don't even think this stone is odd. The only thing odd about this pouch is that it's odd."

"So, in the last 12 hours, we have about zero clues as to what's going on here?" Dean found it hard to believe that he hadn't found anything worth mentioning.

"So far. Hey, maybe Mr. Nimworth is right-this might just be an act of someone who doesn't like same-gender couples. It happens."

"But still, my spidey-sense is tingling here."

"What do you want to do?"

Deans smiled. No matter how much they grew up, it still made him feel proud when Sam asked for direction from his big brother. "I guess our next step is to go into the police station, get his permanent record, and check it out. Maybe the cops have dug up some more stuff in the last day."

Sam shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

The police didn't have any issues with the Winchester's fake IDs or with the fact that Harold had reported them after they had left the house yesterday. They were actually happy that the Feds had sent some guys down their way.

"It really is a stumper, this case." Police Chief Wiggs, a good looking man with blonde hair and green eyes said. "For God's sake, Mr. Poland was in with the church's bake sale group! Anyone who would kill him would be..."

"Unnatural?" Dean mentioned.

"Yes, they would. But we actually are supposed to get his killer in to the station tomorrow for questioning. Until then, you're more than welcome to anything you need. "

"Thank you, Chief." Sam shook his hand before the boys left.

"Wow," Dean said as he slid into the driver's seat of the Impala. "This just makes no sense. I guess we'll have to come back tomorrow to see this killer."

Sam flipped open the file folder the Chief had given them. "Her name was Candice Melrose. She's getting released from the psych ward at the hospital this afternoon. They wanted to do some tests on her before sending her to the police."

"How'd they catch her?"

"The police said that she had left fingerprints all over the body. She was careless, that's for sure."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"I'll bet this Candice chick is clean as whistle too, huh?"

It was quiet for a moment while Sam continued to read. "Yeah, she was. A secretary at the elementary school, no criminal records...She didn't even drink or smoke. I'm thinking this case really is one that we should be checking out."

"So, what?" Dean asked. "This is a shifter?"

"Maybe," Sam replied. "Shifters don't usually clean up after themselves."

"God dammit. I really do hate those things."

Dean thought back to the time when a shape shifter had taken a liking to his body. It was committing crimes in different states, having a spree with its new face. It caused Dean and Sam some unnecessary headaches, jail time and mugshots. He was definitely not looking forward to meeting up with it again, if this was the case.

"You look angry." Sam said.

"Well, let's just say I'll be a hell of a lot better once we get a handle of this thing."

"Where to next, then?"

"I'm thinking that we're gonna go question this girl."


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

The staff at the hospital weren't as welcoming to the brothers as the police were. "All we need," Sam told the head nurse. "Is a few questions. That's it."

"I'm sorry," She replied. "But Ms. Melrose is in complete hysterics. She has been since the police dropped her off here the night she killed that man. She's talking in riddles; she won't even let us wash the blood out of her hair. To get you gentlemen to talk to her would upset her more, I'm afraid."

"This is turning into a federal case, nurse. And our supervisor would really appreciate it if we got answers sent over to him ASAP."

"Tell your supervisor that he can have his answers once the police record them tomorrow at the station. I'm not letting any strangers into her room. That's final."

You could clearly hear the girl shrieking from outside the door. She was in a complete fit, true to what the nurse had said.

"Well," Dean said to Sam. "That's that, I guess. Sorry for taking up your time, ma'am."

He basically had to pull Sam by his tie to get him to walk away from her.

"What are you doing, Dean? I thought you wanted answers before the police got to her, in case they filtered anything out."

"Cool your jets, hot-shot. I got this." They went from strolling straight down that hallway to taking a sharp left down another.

Before Sam knew it, they had done a complete loop around the hospital-this time though, they were at the opposite end of the hallway than they were when they first got there.

Dean bent down and grabbed a pick from his cufflink. Sam sighed in frustration.

"It always makes me nervous when you pick locks in the open like this."

"Then make like a moose and block everyone's view." He replied.

The room's door slowly opened, and when the boys peeked inside, they didn't like what they saw-the room was clawed to pieces, the mattress and bed on its side, and the chair broken. Candice Melrose was in the corner, eyes as wild as an animal. "What do you want? You aren't going to shoot me, are you?"

"Well, this oughta be fun." Dean said sarcastically, before stepping foot into the chaos. Sam followed behind, shutting the door and keeping his distance as best as possible. Dean stooped to the girl's level and put on a friendly smile.

"Hi there, Candice. Me and my partner here just want to ask you some things about the time around when you saw Mark Poland last. Is that okay?"

Candice nodded, still timid. "He...Shot me." Her voice was barely a whisper, almost as if she was speaking to herself. Dean had to strain his ears to even acknowledge the fact that she spoke.

"Who shot you?" Sam asked.

"Cupid."


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Hannah Remenov was excited for the turn of the century. Her family had been struggling since the early 1800's, and the year 1900 seemed like it may bring new luck for them. Being only seventeen, she was much more mature than other girls her age. Well, at least she thought so. Nobody wanted anything to do with her. None of the townspeople even looked at her and her mother, father and brother when they strolled by. This 'America' country was proving to be much more prejudiced than their native Romania.

They had left when the police force torched their village. Many people died in the flames-and they were all she ever knew. This was 7 years ago, but sometimes Hannah felt as if it were yesterday. The memories still stung fresh in her mind. America was supposed to be a new start. Her father had gotten work as a stable boy, her mother a seamstress, and her brother was already married off at 19 to some girl who they couldn't afford to even think about.

All of Hannah's parents efforts were to give them a better life. But she didn't want that. She wanted 1900. That would be the fresh start she needed, and finally, on her eighteenth year, she could run off with Jacob Werthing, the son of the family hers worked for. They had been in love for the past year.

"This is ridiculous, Hannah," Her mother scolded. "Your brother got lucky, you will not. You are not risking our newfound lives for a man; for the sake of 'love'. You will be a seamstress, and forget all of Romania. Be an American. It is why we traveled so far." _Yes, because our thick accents will not make anyone think that we actually aren't even close to being one._ She thought.

So Hannah waited. She waited for the year 1900, and when she and Jacob did run off, her parents told her to never think of them. To never return, lest she scorn the family's good name further. It was a disgrace, in their minds, a rebellion act of adulthood in hers. When she packed her saddle bag to leave, her parents slipped a purple velvet pouch into the side pocket. Hannah had no idea that it was there. But, that was the point. Wherever the horse and that boy will take her, it will follow.

On her 21st year, Hannah had been left by Jacob Werthing and left with an eight month old son as a token of her stupidity. She was cleaning out her small stable, ready to move yet again, when she saw the purple pouch, and opened it. It didn't take a genius to know that it was cursed.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

"Cupid? The cherub, Cupid?" Sam asked the girl, incredulous.

"Yes."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean interrupted, his loud voice scaring her. "Cupid _does not _make people kill each other."

The girl seemed almost eerily calm, her voice stable. Dean and Sam exchanged knowing glances. "Did you notice any black smoke that night?" Sam said.

"No."

"Any sulfur?"

"No. Everything was completely normal."

Dean wasn't buying it. "How did you meet him, Candice?"

"Yeah," Sam said, trying to keep from startling her again. "Tell us about that."

"Okay. Well...I'm just out of grad school, fresh new job, and a new lease on life. I had had a long-term relationship but..."

"But what?"

"My boyfriend died in a house fire."

Sam winced. He hated thinking about Jess. Instinctively, he reached out his hand and put it on her shoulder. "I'm so sorry-I had a girlfriend who passed away, too. Something similar to that."

Candice's eyes welled up with tears. "It was only 2 months ago. We were engaged. Matt said that I could have all the world if I wanted it, and about a month and a half ago, I was having a really bad spell. I'm talking crying off and on all day, even in front of the kids. And, that afternoon after school, I bumped into this jolly-looking man passing out speed-dating flyers."

"He knew. I don't know how he knew about all the pain, but a bright light shone over me, and it was gone. And then I met Mark. I love Mark." Her mood changed from sadness to bliss when she mentioned his name. "He had to die. After I found out he was cheating on me, I knew that if I couldn't have him, nobody could. So I killed him."

_Okay, _Dean thought. _Someone flipped the crazy switch. _"How did you meet Mark?" He asked, trying to maintain the conversation as best as he could.

"I joined a pottery class. My mom said it'd be good to get out and meet people. As soon as I entered those doors, that's when I saw him. He was painting a gnome, and I love him."

"Ms. Melrose," Sam said, heading for the door. "I think we've heard enough. We'll, um, come to the police station if we need anything else, okay?"

"Okay," Candice replied, her head in the clouds.

"Okay."

Sam shut the door, and once again, they left another building with no answers. That evening, at the motel room, Dean couldn't wait to get a cold beer in him. In fact, he couldn't wait to get the hell out of Kentucky.

It was a long night. Whilst Dean snored, Sam drifted in and out of sleep. Candice's words echoed in his head: _my boyfriend died in a house fire_. It was too close to home for his liking. Before he knew it, he was back in college, with Jessica dressed as a nurse for the Halloween party. Dean showing up at their apartment, worried about Dad, taking Sam away from her-it was the last time he'd ever see her alive.

He came home, ready to become a lawyer, and Jess's body was on the ceiling, burning, blood dripping on his forehead. _Why me? _Sam thought. _We were supposed to be regular folks. Suburbia, kids, barbeques with neighbors in the summer..._ Another flash, and he saw her again, her face paralyzed in fear.

Sam jolted awake, panting. He hadn't had a night like this in a long time.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

"Sam," Dean said to his brother the next morning over coffee at the local diner. "What the friggin' hell is going on?" His voice was waking him out of his sleepiness, his brain still focused on the previous night.

"What?"

"I said, what's going on?"

"I don't know, Dean. I wish I did." He rubbed his temples with his hands, trying to comprehend all of the information that the two had gained altogether.

"We've got a dead guy, his boyfriend _and _his psycho murderer girlfriend? Who does that? Who has a love triangle that weird?"

Sam's thoughts rushed through his head, mixing and matching for some scrap of sense, but it wasn't panning out. And then the lightbulb flicked on.

"I don't think _anyone _does. I think it's one-sided." He replied.

"What?"

"Think about it-Cupid in disguise, doing his daily low-profile work, when he sees a girl in need. Boom, she gets hit by an arrow."

"And," Dean interrupted. "Kills some poor sap out of jealousy because he's living his life with someone other than her?"

"Exactly. He probably has no idea she was interested in him-just some girl at the weekly class. But it still doesn't make sense. Cupid makes perfect matches: our parents being one of them. He doesn't do things that end up wrong."

"What if Cupid didn't do this?" Dean offered. Sam considered the alternative.

"I guess. But who else could've?"

"Really, I have no idea. But for once, I'd like to be the smart one and think outside the box. Let's ask him ourselves. Let's get the answers right out of the horse's ass."

"I think", Sam replied with a smile. "You mean horse's mouth."

"No, I mean ass."

CHAPTER 8


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Mark Poland was a simple kind of guy. He stayed home and kept house while his boyfriend worked full time as an accountant. He didn't watch TV, smoke, drink, or do any kind of illegal nonsense. The only thing he treated himself to was the Wednesday night pottery classes.

It was during one of those classes that things got a little, well, odd. The thing about pottery was that it relaxes Mark: it's an escape made especially for him, and lawn gnomes were his specialty. But one day, a pretty young blonde girl signed up for the class. She was definitely out of the ordinary-25 at most, and the majority of people in the class were over 50. She sat down next to Mark and grabbed her supplies.

"Hi," Mark said. "Welcome to the class. My name's Mark." He reached out to shake her hand. She looked at him and her eyes went wide with wonder.

"Hi. I-I'm Candice. You have beautiful eyes."

"Um...Okay. Thanks. I hope you like it here."

"Oh," Candice replied with a tone like silk. "I think I most certainly will."

From there, she wouldn't stop asking him questions. It was beyond being polite and trying to get to casually know one another. Mark thought it was creepy. In one class, this girl had turned from normal to psycho.

Every week, the same thing happened. Candice sat next to him, she asked him questions, almost like she had a crush on him and couldn't keep herself from talking. It got worse and worse. Honestly, he considered dropping the class because of this girl. And then it happened. Candice followed Mark Poland home.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

When Sam checked the clock, he winced. Again, just as it was earlier that week, the clock showed an ungodly hour for him to be up doing some more homework. But he couldn't sleep. There was something about this whole case that felt lopsided. He glanced at Dean, asleep at the table across from him, whiskey glass still in his hand. Sam turned the yellow stone around in his hands, searching for some type of clue or brainwave that would be useful.

He felt as if he should know something...But it wasn't there. Castiel was out of reach doing some important Heaven business, so Sam had no way to contact Cupid. He was looking through all of the old books Bobby had told him to check out at the local library, but nothing. No spells or rituals or anything that could bring a cherub into their room. Not now, anyway.

"I know, baby, it'll be good in a minute..." Dean mumbled sleepily to himself, a slight smirk emerging from his mouth.

Sam got up quietly and stretched. His body needed some exercise. Maybe he could go for a quick walk around the block and clear his mind. It was 4:30, so dawn was almost around the corner.

The fresh air felt incredible. He just turned the corner of the motel when Sam bumped into a petite jogger with cherry red hair and bright blue eyes.

"Oh!" She said. "I'm so sorry, man." Her voice sounded as if she had some hint of an exotic accent.

"No, it's me. I should be watching where I'm going."

The girl took her headphones out of her ears for a minute. "Are you the one who owns that sweet ride?" She asked, gesturing towards the Impala.

Sam smiled. "Uh, no. That would be my brother. I just sit in the passenger's seat."

"Too bad," The girl said. "I think you'd look pretty good driving it."

She went to shake his hand. "I'm Loretta."

"Sam."

"Nice to meet you, Sam. I'm here vacationing for the rest of the week. See you around, I hope."

"Me too. Um, can I ask where you're from?" His curiosity proved to be too much.

"Boston, but my parents are from Romania. Catch you later!"

As she turned and put her headphones back in, Sam noticed that Loretta had something familiar about her. He realized as she jogged away-she had a necklace with a yellow stone on it.


End file.
